


Feathers

by SixtySevenChevy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Kisses, M/M, but not heavy wingkink?, i swear that's all i ever write, wingkink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-07 07:59:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SixtySevenChevy/pseuds/SixtySevenChevy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's just trying to do some laundry before his date. Of course, Gabriel has to show up. And he's being... insufferable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feathers

**Author's Note:**

> Anon on tumblr prompted me to write Sabriel Wingkink.
> 
> Also, I dunno what's up with the coding, but some things are clearly italicized, and they're not showing up as italics. I don't know. Bear with me.

Sam sighs and folds another towel. If there’s one thing he’s learned living with Dean and Cas in close proximity, it’s that he’s going to have to do his own laundry. (And cooking. And cleaning. And shopping.) Even if he does have somewhere he really needs to be.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean says, poking his head in through the doorway. Sam finishes folding a towel and looks up at his brother. “Me and Cas are going out. Do something fun, will ya? It’s killing me slowly to see you so boring.”

“I’m not boring, Dean,” Sam replies, trying to untangle a few towels that have somehow intertwined themselves around each other and are not letting go. “I have plans tonight, actually.”

“Going out to get drunk is not _plans,_ Sam. It’s sad,” Dean retorts. Sam refrains from mentioning his brother’s history with alcohol. Dean drops a wink and edges away, disappearing from sight as Sam struggles with the towel. Seriously, how did it get so tangled? Can towels even _do_ that?

Just as soon as Sam can hear the Impala’s engine roaring off into the distance, the door to his room bangs open again. He looks up, still trying to get the damned towel undone, to see none other than Gabriel standing, in all his short and energetic glory, in the doorway. Smirking.

This cannot be good.

“Don’t try to undo the towels, Samsquatch. I put them there special,” Gabriel drawls. Sam rolls his eyes and tosses the towels into the basket, picking up another, thankfully untangled, one and trying to fold it. He thinks he managed to do it pretty well, for having never been taught to fold anything, let alone a towel. 

“Don’t ignore me!” Gabriel croons, coming closer. Sam hides his laugh and does just that. “I hate you.”

Sam doesn’t respond. He just fold towels in silence.

“If you ignore me,” Gabriel says, and his tone is warning, “I’ll be forced to do something drastic.”

Nothing.

“I hate you,” Gabriel mutters, sitting on the edge of Sam’s bed and pulling a chocolate bar out of thin air. Sam continues to ignore him. Grab, fold, repeat. Grab, fold, repeat. And so on.

“I’m going to do something you’ll regret,” Gabriel says. Sam internalizes his laughter and hopes he doesn’t look like he’s having a stroke or a seizure or something. Gabriel glares and throws his wrapper at Sam. The plastic bounces off his face and flutters delicately to the floor, where it catches fire, and blinks out of existence. Sam, used to Gabriel’s shenanigans by now, folds another towel. This one has suspicious stains, and he really doesn’t want to know.

“Fine. You asked for it. Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Gabriel says, and then _something_ touches the back of Sam’s neck. He jumps (understatement) and nearly lands on his ass. Gabriel crows with laughter, and the same _something_ caresses the side of Sam’s face. He’s not ashamed to say that he reaches for a weapon.

His weapons are all gone. Every last one, taken when he either wasn’t looking or was dead, because there’s no way anyone could get all of them. There are some stashed in some rather, er, _personal _regions.__

__The _something_ taps Sam on the shoulder. He twists, but he can’t see anything. He is being tormented by _nothing_._ _

__“What the hell is that?” Sam demands, breaking his silence._ _

__Gabriel gives him a look that can only be called _really, bitch?_ and rolls his eyes. “Angel,” he says, pointing a finger at the center of his chest. Sam splutters; there’s really nothing to say. Gabriel looks immensely satisfied._ _

___“Wings?”_ Sam eventually forces out, much shriller than he would have preferred._ _

__Gabriel chuckles and the _something_ brushes Sam’s face again, and this time he can feel feathers. Feathers. Invisible, ridiculously soft feathers._ _

__“Wings,” Gabriel confirms._ _

__“Let me see,” Sam says, and it’s not a question._ _

__He’d expected Gabriel to refuse, or to shake his head, or to maybe just vanish into the ether, but instead Gabriel just sits up a little straighter. And suddenly Sam’s entire range of vision is filled, completely covered with gold. Golden feathers, soft as down and glinting as if made of metal, are everywhere._ _

__Sam spits out a feather and hears Gabriel laughing. The wings retract a bit, and Sam can see Gabriel doubled up with laughter on the edge of the bed. The wings shake when he laughs, and Sam finds himself mesmerized. They’re huge, spreading from Gabriel’s shoulder blades and spanning the room, at least. They’re golden, and they look like they’re made of metal from one angel and of down from another. The light glints off them like sun on snow._ _

__“You. Got a feather. In your _mouth,”_ Gabriel gasps, wiping away a tear. “Oh my Father, it was _in your mouth!”__ _

__“Shut up,” Sam growls, but reaches out to touch a feather all the same. The wing draws back, flinching away from his hand. When he looks at Gabriel, the angel has his trademark smirk back on._ _

__“Gotta work for it,” he singsongs._ _

__Of course, Sam accepts the challenge, and almost instantly, the two are rolling around on the bed, both laughing so hard they can’t breathe, both not sure why they’re still fully clothed. It doesn’t take long for Sam to pin Gabriel. He’s bigger, after all. (Don’t tell Sam that the only reason he’s pinning Gabe is because Gabe is letting him.)_ _

__“Got you,” Sam breathes, grinning down at the archangel._ _

__Gabriel’s cheeks are flushed, and he’s panting. Sam stares down at him, glad that his brother isn’t home. Gabriel’s wings are splayed out, feathers sticking up from the short tussle. Both men are grinning, and then they’re kissing._ _

__It’s just a soft little press of lips, nothing hot and heavy. Gabriel’s lips are soft, and he tastes like candy. His wings come up to enfold them both, wrapping around Sam and forming what can only be called a tent. Sam huffs a laugh into the angel’s mouth. Gabriel responds by sticking his tongue inside._ _

___Well, this is… Yeah._ _ _

__Sam repositions them so that he’s still on top, but putting more weight on Gabriel. Gabriel sighs, fingers clutching at Sam’s flannel shirt and wings folding tighter around them. Sam manages to work his hand up to Gabriel’s shoulder, just barely brushing the feathers._ _

__Gabriel goes still. Completely, entirely, utterly, still._ _

__And then he’s redoubling his efforts, kissing harder and hungrier, and Sam can only go with it. He digs his fingers into the wing, feeling the soft down underneath the stiffer upper feathers. Gabriel gasps and rubs his leg against Sam’s, and _oh that’s nice._ _ _

__He’s just finding his rhythm when the door to the bunker is banged open. Sam stops, pulling back to look at Gabriel. His pupils are huge, eyes having gone wide to make them seem like they’re swallowing his irises._ _

__“Sammy?” Dean calls. _Oh no, he’s coming this way._ _ _

__“Gotta go, Samsquatch. Don’t be late for our date tonight,” Gabriel whispers, pressing one last kiss to Sam’s lips before he’s gone, leaving Sam alone in his room, one last golden feather fluttering down to rest on the pillow._ _


End file.
